There’s a sobering weight that settles over a parent driving away from the hospital with their first child. Am I even mature enough for this? Who is allowing this child to come home with me?! I don’t know how to raise a child!
It seems like yesterday that we buckled in a little boy we didn’t know and drove away from the cradle care home. Suddenly the burden had shifted: the generous, exhausted caregivers had given him their final hugs and kisses and welcomed the reprieve, while we assumed the weight of it all.
I looked back from the passenger seat to smile at our older boys, scared that we were about to ruin them. I glanced over at this foreign, flapping, huge diaper-wearing three-year-old and tried to catch the eyes that didn’t want to connect. Lord, maybe this is too much. Are You sure? We could turn around…
We drove for hours and arrived at our rental house. After a whirlwind of a couple weeks we now had to slow painfully down. The days ahead were empty, left for us to fill with who-knew-what while we waited for paperwork to be signed and the green light to leave the state. We got things put away and explored the backyard, hopeful that the physical activity would help everyone sleep well that night.
The next handful of nights were nightmares. It started with brushing teeth and would end sometime in the early hours of the morning. Cup after cup of strawberry milk was made, diaper after diaper changed. Back rubs, relaxing lotion, the fan and sound machine on – we had no clue how to decode the screaming and crying and thrashing. Nothing seemed to diffuse the intense emotions this little boy felt, and he had no other way to tell us what he was thinking.
Those two weeks were full of challenges and beauty: trips to the store that ended with screaming; comments from strangers that brought tears, because you can’t possibly explain your situation in 15 seconds; bright sunsets with horses in the foreground; giggles from three little boys and joy in their faces as they jumped around with baby goats.
Up until then, life was fairly easily curated. Planned. Predictable. Learning curves came in stages, with end dates somewhere on the horizon. But this little boy who’s world had been rocked came in and shattered much of what I knew with breakneck pace. All of a sudden, life was messy and I couldn’t do anything about it. Things I never anticipated began happening left and right. He’d wander down the driveway, fall over constantly, make one guttural “ooh” sound all. day. long. There were a lot of little, probably petty things – like ripping books and smearing poop on the windowsill. But it all broke me. What hurt most was the reality that many adoptive mothers experience – pouring yourself out for a child who desperately needs your love and stability but cannot process it, and will push it – you – all away. The poop on the windowsill would’ve been easier to handle with a smile if this little one could have told me what he needed. The ripped books could’ve been tossed with less heartache if I knew he understood boundaries and the concept of possessions.
There were a few days, and many nights, I spent in tears genuinely questioning our decision. If we had said no, God would have brought someone else to take him. Right? God would still have cared for him. We could have waited, maybe taken an infant or at least a child with fewer needs and hangups.
And here we are, officially one year later.
We could’ve said no; we could’ve asked God to send another family. But we would’ve missed all that He wanted to do.
The stretches of good nights, the daily walks that did us all good physically and mentally. The day Kash looked me in the eyes while he was flapping, indicating that he wanted to let me into his world. The countless conversations with our sweet Levi and Caleb, answering their many questions and being humbled by their love for their new brother. The sheer joy as all the boys wrestle together and giggle, as they run outside and balance on the obstacle courses they’ve made themselves. The day Kash came padding into the kitchen to see what I was doing, interested in something other than himself and the object he held. The day he tried to crack an egg into a pan. The fact that I can now read him like a book, without many words. The day, a couple weeks ago, he looked at me and called me Mama when I got him up for breakfast.
We don’t know where Kash would be if God hadn’t placed him here. But we do know that God plucked him out of a life of pain and struggle, drugs and instability, and gave him a fresh start. We have watched his body heal, and we know he feels the difference. We have seen Kash emerge, leaving his autistic behaviors and traits behind. Oh, how much we all have learned!
“Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.”
James 1:17
Early on we received a frame from an adoption organization with this verse scripted inside, and I hesitantly found a place for it. I knew Kash was a gift but truthfully, it was hard to accept that as fact. Are gifts supposed to weigh you down and make you lose your mind?! Turns out, sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the story God is writing makes no sense and your job is to be a good character anyway. I’ve learned to laugh more, relax more, take each day as it comes knowing that the Lord will provide for my every need (and those of my children!). God gives us gifts as He sees fit, whether we recognize them as gifts or not. Kash certainly is a gift to each of us from Him. He is now naturally part of our family and we couldn’t imagine not having him here!
Who knows what the next year will hold. Without a doubt there will be more sanctification, and Lord-willing we will come out even more refined and joyful. We genuinely look forward to the things to come because we know that God works all things for our good and His glory – we have seen this proven time and time again. He is good. One year down, many more to go!
“The end of a thing is better than its beginning; the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.”
Ecclesiastes 7:8
